


atmosphere

by undying_young



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, i honestly have no idea who else is gonna be in this ngl, this is something i started when i was like 14 and it's evolved to this........enjoy nerds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undying_young/pseuds/undying_young
Summary: A missing child, a petulant god, a summer during which no one dies. What do these things have in common?Rated M for language and violence only.
Relationships: Original Character/Original Character
Kudos: 2





	atmosphere

**Author's Note:**

> A grocery stocker's day is disrupted by a beautiful stranger.
> 
> best enjoyed while listening to the playlist i formed while writing, which you'll find below.

[ playlist ](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLhhnr4heuj_GlG0W1-8yc9vMbHrsVfDF8)

* * *

  
  


**JACOB WALLACE- **MARTÍN****

**13 yrs, pictured above**

**DOB: SEPTEMBER 29TH, 2012. HISPANIC/LATINO MALE. 13 YRS. HEIGHT: 5’4”. WEIGHT: 119 LBS. HAIR COLOR: BLK. EYE COLOR: BRWN. LAST SEEN WEARING A WHITE T-SHIRT, BLUE JEANS, AND A GRAY SWEATSHIRT.**

**LAST SEEN ON MAY 21ST, 2026, AT BEAR CREEK MIDDLE SCHOOL. PERSONS HAVING ANY INFORMATION ARE REQUESTED TO CALL.**

At first, Surrey thought she’d imagined the flyer. He’d been declared dead two years before. Had it sincerely taken two years for anyone to notice his cherub’s face was still hanging here? And why did _Surrey_ have to be the one who noticed?

She straightened from where she’d bent to cut plastic wrap away from a small bunch of deodorant boxes, not bothering to retract the blade of her boxcutter. 

Surrey squeezed the device. The metal was cool in her hand. She was present. She was at _work_. Surrey resumed her cutting, though she couldn’t manage to tear her eyes away from the flyer.

And then the thoughts came barrelling in--of worms eating away at his bloated face, of his eyes being long gone, of his body being someplace they had only _just_ missed, of Jacob having died afraid and alone and screaming, maybe; screaming for Surrey because she was his only friend and nearly his only family and how could everything have possibly gotten so fucked up on the last day of _eighth grade_ \--

Something sliced deep into her right palm. Pain flaring through her hand, Surrey yelped and dropped her boxcutter. The wound was about three inches long and gaping. Now she was bleeding all over her smock and--yep!--that was definitely going to come out of her paycheck. 

The girl looked back at the flyer.

It didn’t feel right. Jacob being dead.

It was worse.

Maybe not dead-for-the-passed-six-years worse, but something still felt like… Like he hadn’t _really_ died, but only crossed over. 

But where?

The young woman ripped the flyer from the bulletin board with her good hand and stuffed it into the pocket of her smock. Even crumpled into a ball, it taunted her. Unfortunately, she was in public, so for the next few hours, she’d just have to let the wretched thing taunt. 

Her hand throbbed. And bled. A lot.

Surrey wrapped her smock around the wound, and discreetly power-walked to the backroom of the store, cutting through the cereal aisle in her haste. As she passed the _Lucky Charms_ , something snagged her arm, and she jerked away, turning to see a grinning man--maybe middle-aged, given the salt-and-pepper hair?--looking straight out of a Vineyard Vines catalogue. She almost wanted to use her bloodied hand as a get-out-of-jail-free card, but she’d just as soon lose her job.

His smile was too wide. “Do you have a boyfriend?” 

Cut right to the chase, this one. The young woman’s eyebrows shot up, but she eased (as best she could with gore going on in her smock) into a more pleasant expression before responding.

“I do, actually.”

Vineyard Vines made no attempt to hide his bristling. “Does he have a Ferrari?”

_‘Do_ you _have a Ferrari?’_ she considered responding, but she still wasn’t yet prepared to be mailed a separation notice.

“He does, actually,” she settled on. Surrey cleared her throat, trying to ignore the blood dripping down her arm. The aisle was empty, which did nothing for her racing heart. At least she had the box cutter. “Can I help you find something?”

“Maybe your number?”

It was a true effort not to wince. “I don’t think so. But please let me know if you need anything.”

“Well, I’ve told you what I needed.”

“Maybe I could direct you to the store manager? He’d be glad to help.”

That usually did it. He tucked his hands into his pockets. “No, thank you. Have a good one, miss.” 

And with that, he stalked off, glancing back only once to glare.

Surrey noted that Elwood would have to walk her to the train station at the end of her shift. She felt safe in assuming that caricature of a man wouldn’t stop there.

“You’re bleeding.”

Surrey suppressed an exasperated sigh and turned to yet another customer who had spoken to her, putting on her near-perfected Bargain Mart Employee™ ersatz grin. “Yes. I’m headed to the First-Aid Kit right now.”

The customer was a woman--around Surrey’s age, maybe a year or so older. Her pale skin didn’t appear as gaunt as it made everyone else under the fluorescents. She sort of glowed, even; a ghostly glow, and otherworldly glow. Of course, that’s where the otherworldliness ended--she was clad in regular Levi’s and a regular t-shirt and regular sneakers, her dark coils cut short just below her ears, and a shopping basket hung on her arm, Baby’s-breath spilling from it.

She was pretty. Surrey found herself staring. Her hand was bleeding. Yes, that was what she’d been doing.

“I-I’m getting the First-Aid Kit,” she explained.

The woman smiled. “You said that.”

Surrey opened her mouth and closed it again. “Yes.” 

She nodded once and scurried off to the backroom. 

*

“You’re _bleeding_ , Surrey.”

“I’m aware,” Surrey grunted, fruitlessly wiping her hand with a paper towel. Of course, she’d cut her hand open on the day the store’s First-Aid Kit ran out of alcoholic wipes. The kit was open on a foldout table that was already cluttered with other quick grabs--Lysol wipes, random water bottles and cups of coffee, someone’s jacket, a spare boxcutter, five dry-erase markers--and was in desperate need of being restocked. 

The backroom was completely empty, which wasn’t strange for six p.m. on a Tuesday, but for some reason that evening, the warehouse felt bigger than it normally did. “Go on, El. I had First-Aid training, same as you.”

But in typical Elwood fashion, he hesitated. Oh, she loved that boy, but sometimes he was a little... “It’s deep. Maybe you ought to get stitches.”

“I’m alright. Pain’s going away already,” she said (ignoring the disturbing feeling that she didn’t have to lie). “Please, just leave me alone.”

“You’re unhappy.”

_“Later,_ El,” she said firmly, being sure to meet his eyes this time. “I mean it.” 

He almost frowned, but his face quickly went blank again. Elwood nodded once and left her be. 

Surrey cursed; she never even _kind of_ raised her voice at Elwood in all her (going on six?) years of knowing him, nor did she ever want to. Definitely was going to have to apologize for that one. But later.

She tossed the bloody paper towels and pulled a bottle of peroxide from the kit. It was half-empty but more than enough. Surrey held her hand over a garbage can and poured the peroxide over the wound.

And she noticed something, then; the wound was a bit smaller than before. Yes, definitely smaller; it had stretched straight across her palm, before, from her pinky finger to her thumb. Now, it stopped just _short_ of her thumb, about a centimeter or so. 

Perhaps she’d imagined the gore… well, gorier than it actually had been. There had been a lot of blood. There still _was_ a lot of blood.

Surrey put away the bottle and moved on.

*

“Was that flirting?” 

Surrey blinked, and turned in the direction of the inquisitor. “Excuse me?”

Six butterfly closures and a length of gauze later, Surrey was back on the floor. She was making her way through Produce, now (as it all but guaranteed less strenuous lifting), borrowing a fresh smock and promising to pay back the store later. She technically wasn’t allowed to work without a smock, and those salad mixes weren’t going to stock themselves, after all.

“That guy back there.” Pretty Woman waited for Surrey to hum in recognition, and continued, picking over the display of Red Delicious before her. “It seems as though men believe they’re being perfectly charming when they behave that way.”

“It seems that way.”

“Don’t you ever get scared?” 

Surrey shrugged. “I’m not a man.” 

(And that was answer enough.)

The woman settled on three apples, glancing at Surrey once as she loaded her basket. “Take a walk with me,” the woman prompted, though not necessarily in the form of a question.

Surrey glanced around herself. 

“Yes, you,” the woman tittered and squinted at her badge. _“...Surrey._ Take a walk with me.”

“Around the store?”

“Around the block. I was just about to check out, anyhow.”

Surrey fixed her mouth to say, _‘No, I’m actually on the clock and I already used my first break and I really need to eat in a half-hour, actually,’_ but instead she said, “Sounds great. I’ll clock out,” and did just that.

They met out front. Surrey hadn’t bothered to take off her smock. The air bit her cheeks; even attempted to rip through her jacket. Surrey hugged herself and stuck her hands into her pockets.

“Don’t suppose we could stop at a coffee shop instead?” Surrey asked voice muffled through the scarf wrapped around her nose and mouth. It was black-and-white striped, and the ends of it hung all the way down to her knees.

“Nonsense. This is better.” 

The woman paused. The wind did its best to blow her Baby’s-breath apart, but she held the bunch close to her chest, searching their surroundings for something. Pretty Woman walked to the side of the store. Surrey dutifully followed. When she didn’t find it, she turned back to Surrey. 

“I know a hiking trail. Just in those woods, there.”

Pretty Woman gestured to the forest that laid just behind the Bargain Mart, smiling kindly.

“I’ve never heard of that one,” Surrey admitted.

“It’s lovely,” Pretty Woman assured her. “Especially in the fall.”

Surrey nodded as if it made perfect sense. “I like autumn.”

Pretty Woman linked their arms and led her into the woods.

The sky was overcast. Surrey loved it when the sky was overcast. The trees were red and orange and gold. How had so many dying things managed to be so beautiful?

When the grocery store was far out of sight behind them, Pretty Woman abruptly disrupted their link, and dropped her groceries on the forest floor, deciding to climb the nearest tree. It was an oak; a damn big one, with long, gnarling branches that were half-bare. Surrey laughed as Pretty Woman straddled the lowest branch, and smiled down at her.

“What are you doing up there?”

Pretty Woman brushed her hair from her face. “What are _you_ doing down _there?”_

A shared laugh this time. Surrey rested her back on the tree trunk and regarded the woman upside-down. “What’s your name?

Pretty Woman’s grin faltered for a split second, and she straightened as if resigning herself to the idea that Surrey would eventually ask. 

Her voice was low, but clear. _“Foniás.”_

Surrey hummed. _“‘Killer?’”_

(It _had_ crossed Surrey’s mind that she didn’t recall knowing whatever language she had just translated, but it would indeed disturb her later.)

“My dad wanted a Doberman,” Foniás elaborated, waving the discussion away. “Come up.”

“What, in the tree? With _you?”_

“Don’t be shy. You’re off the clock, remember?”

Surrey didn’t like climbing trees very much. She’d fallen out of a tree one time when she was ten, after Jacob had dared her to ‘come up.’ He’d gotten all the way to the top, then turned and called her ‘chickenshit’--because she _was,_ but that wasn’t any of _his_ business--so she climbed up to defend her honour (and the proud smile he’d given had definitely been worth it), then immediately slipped, fell, and broke her arm in two places. After she’d gotten out of the emergency room, Jacob had apologized profusely and bought her this huge ice-cream cone with the five dollars he’d made from raking his grandmother’s yard. They ended up sharing it. It had quickly diverged into an ice-cream fight.

Jesus, she missed him.

“Are you coming, or aren’t you?”

Surrey fidgeted with the ends of her scarf. Beautiful people never lied. Surrey pulled her scarf down to rest at her neck, and began the climb. Foniás grinned ferally, and climbed even higher.

“Surrey?”

The young woman looked down to see Elwood race up to the tree she sat in, only now noticing how high up she was. Had to have been thirty feet at least, and there was nowhere to go but up. Well, technically she _could_ get down, but _Foniás_ was up _._

Either way, Surrey held on a little tighter, and nodded at her friend. “How did you find me?”

“Surrey, what are you doing up there?” 

She hesitated, glancing back up to where Foniás was easily perched a few branches above, eyes locked on Elwood down below. A vision of a lion crouched in the grass crossed Surrey’s mind. 

Surrey shrugged. “Meeting girls, why?”

“It’s been a lot more than fifteen minutes. Paul just asked about you.”

“Let him ask,” Foniás called.

Elwood sneered at the woman. He never so much as flinched when he stubbed his toe, so seeing his face scrunch up like that made him look nearly alien. It was funny.

Surrey swung her feet. Ease blew over her at almost the exact same second the wind did. Elwood was being silly. And thirty feet was nothing. She could eat thirty feet for breakfast. And with Foniás sitting there, looking like an angel complete with that dark halo of curls? The only response Surrey could fashion was smiling wide and continuing upwards.

"Surrey June, I mean it!" Ellie’s voice was panicked, now. Surrey couldn’t imagine why. It was a _tree_. Paul would be fine.

She waved him aside, giggling when Foniás blew a raspberry at Elwood. “Whatever, _Dad_ . You-you gonna yell at me some more, _Dad?”_

“Yeah, _Dad,”_ Foniás echoed, delighted by this interaction. Surrey was up fifty feet, now. Maybe more.

“Please, Surrey,” Elwood called. “This isn’t you!”

Surrey shrugged it off, focused only on the raven-haired woman she was nearing, a woman she'd die for--yes, _die for_ \--because if Surrey had to die in any season, it would be autumn, and it was okay if she died because everyone has to die and if it happened to be at nineteen in the middle of the woods with a beautiful woman smiling down at her, it was surely for a good cause, anyway. 

As if she'd read her mind, Foniás asked, “Would you die for me, Surrey?”

Surrey nodded rapidly, and stood on the branch she’d just pulled herself up on, not minding how she wobbled. Seventy-five feet. “I would.”

There came a horrified sound, and Surrey looked down to see Elwood still staring up at the scene, misty-eyed. 

“No you _wouldn't_ , Surrey!” Elwood shrieked, “You would _not_ die for her, you hear me?! You don’t even know her! She's tricking you!”

“Don't be rude, Ellie,” Foniás chirped. 

Was that a bleating sound he made? “Don't call me ‘Ellie,’ you murderous--!”

Foniás jumped down to Surrey’s branch. Elwood was shrieking at her from the ground, but she wasn’t listening--only staring into the baby blue of the ghostly woman’s eyes as she grabbed Surrey by the hips, pulling her closer, steadying her. 

"You know what happens now, right?" Foniás asked seriously.

Surrey nodded eagerly. 

Foniás grinned, and kissed her. It was gentle, slow, _perfect_ . Like warm cookies and lazy Sundays or when you tear notebook paper _just_ along the dotted line on the first try. Surrey felt like she was glowing, or floating, or both. 

Foniás pulled back smiling, pulled her close by her scarf, then kicked her out of the tree. 

Everything went in slow motion.

The woman’s smile never faltered as Surrey felt herself moving further and further away--if anything, her smile _widened_ \--and her teeth were no longer teeth, but fangs, and her irises were no longer blue, but blood red. 

And then there was a sudden stop, and Surrey gasped, clawing at the scarf around her neck. Foniás was still perched on the branch, only she was crouched down now, hurriedly tying the scarf in place. 

Surrey choked. Tears streaked across her cheeks. She kicked her feet, desperately searching for something to steady her.

“You mortals are too easy these days,” Foniás purred, watching in fascination as Surrey struggled.

Elwood was screaming his lungs out down below. Surrey couldn’t see him. Her vision doubled. It felt like everything was growing enhanced in colour. Everything was shiny. Shiny.

Surrey scrambled for the pocket of her smock, sobbing at how gravity pulled at her, and ripped out the boxcutter. A flick, a swipe across the cloth, and she was falling.

That part didn’t feel like slow motion. 

She hit the ground on her back. 

The wind was knocked swift out of her. 

She couldn’t breathe for far too long. But when she could gather air into her lungs again, she screamed. It was guttural and horrified, and not made out of a desire for survival. Black spots expanded and contracted in her line of sight.

* * *

‘You won’t fall.’

‘I will!’

‘Come on, you chickenshit!’

‘Stop calling me that!”

‘I’m sorry, but you are.’

‘You’re hurting my feelings.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry, Junie. I won’t say it again, alright? Look, I’ve got your hand. You see? I’ve got you.’

‘Your hand is sweaty.’

‘Fine. Don’t let go.’

‘But your _hand_ is _sweaty.’_

‘You’ll slip if you let go.’

‘I’ll slip if I hold your _hand.’_

_‘Surrey!’_

* * *

“I'm not chickenshit,” Surrey breathed out. Drool--or blood--dribbled from her bottom lip. She couldn't quite tell yet. Pine needles poked through her clothing.

Elwood wasn’t shrieking anymore. Surrey gingerly propped herself up on her elbows, leaves crunching beneath her. He was gone.

“El?” Panic made its swift return. She began to cry. “El! El, help me!”

A force collided with her jaw, and she was sent sprawling to the side, landing on her back again. Foniás sauntered over, smiling down at her just as sweetly as she had only minutes earlier. She wasn’t sure where the boxcutter had landed, which sucked a lot.

Then Foniás was straddling Surrey, pinning her wrists above her head. The Thing snarled at her, drool nearly dripping into Surrey’s face. 

“You shouldn’t struggle,” Foniás advised. “It’s usually messier if you struggle.”

Surrey prayed that if there was anything up there that loved her, it would make that thing die. There wasn’t an awful lot she had going for her, but Poppy was waiting for her at home and so was a fresh carton of orange juice in their fridge that she hadn't gotten around to opening, so Surrey squeezed her eyes shut, said a prayer, and stopped struggling. 

There was a sickening thud, and the pressure of Foniás’ body was gone. Surrey’s eyes blinked open to see Foniás fly backward. Elwood appeared over her, then, a huge branch (that may as well have been a club) resting on his shoulder. 

He nodded at her. “I had to find a stick.”

Foniás growled, and launched herself at Elwood. She tackled him to the ground, and they rolled around in the leaves, until Elwood kicked her off of him. Her back hit the tree, and she crumpled to the ground.

It was then, Surrey noticed, that Elwood’s legs were hairy. Very--no, _extremely_ hairy, almost like… an animal’s. Surrey searched for feet, but only found hooves.

_Hooves_. _Goat’s legs._

The black spots were swiftly making their way back into Surrey’s vision.

Foniás staggered to her feet again, fangs bared, fingernails morphing into claws. Before anyone could think twice about it, Elwood leapt into the air, and double-hoof-kicked The Thing in the throat. Her neck snapped like a twig, and as she fell limply onto the ground, then exploded into yellow dust. 

Surrey screamed.

Elwood scrambled to her side, and grabbed her arm. “Surrey, we have to _move!”_

She struggled against him. “ _You killed her!_ ”

_“GET UP, DAMN IT!”_

So, not really wanting to argue with a killer-goat-man, Surrey allowed herself to be yanked to her feet, tears still streaking down her face.

They stood in silence for a moment, and Elwood simmered down, and Surrey pushed her braids out of her face, and the wind ripped right through her but she was almost too scared to move. 

This was Elwood. This had always _been_ Elwood. 

He faltered, then, glancing at the ground in the big-eyed nervous way he always did, and Surrey wondered if his change had only been one of necessity. Maybe he, as she knew him, was still there. 

And then she glanced down at the pile of too-bright yellow dust decorating the forest floor, and heard that sickening _crunch_ again, and remembered that killers couldn’t be your friends because they were killers. 

Elwood noticed her noticing, and let her go. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.”

"Are you hurt?" 

Surrey sniffed. “You killed her.”

Elwood studied their surroundings. _“‘Her’_ was a bloodsucking demon who seduces its victims before killing and eating them.”

“Right.” Surrey nodded, and pursed her lips, trying to keep from screaming. “And you've got goat legs.”

Elwood ignored her. “Do you see anyone around?”

“Will you kill them, too?”

“No, but it may mean we ought to start running.”

Surrey buried her face in her hands. “You gotta give me a minute, man. Hold on a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute. We’ve gotta get you home. I think Poppy will be able to explain.”

“Explain.” Surrey met Elwood’s gaze again, and nodded to herself. “Explain what?”

“You…” Elwood’s brown eyes darted about the setting, as if someone were waiting for him to say It so they could tackle him to the ground. “Surrey, you’re a half-blood.”

“What’s that mean? More _this?”_ She gestured vaguely at the sulfur-dust, the goat legs.

And he almost gave her the answer straight, but he must have heard some distant twig snapping with his freaky-goat-hearing, and he looked behind himself, far, far away. 

When he faced her again, he was tense, but his face was of stone. “Poppy can explain. Let’s go home, okay?” 

He offered his hand. 

Surrey ignored it. “This isn’t over, is it?” 

Elwood faltered, minutely pulling his hand back with a saddened look. But just as quickly, he set his jaw, and offered his hand again.

“No.”

Surrey nearly cried out, and looked away from him. A few feet away laid Foniás’ grocery bag.

The flowers were dead. One apple was smashed. Two remained, still intact, still perfect. 

Elwood grabbed Surrey’s hand, and led her out of the woods. 

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to read something that reminded me of autumn and falling asleep under a weighted blanket and best friends you fell out of touch with and think of sometimes. working through some numbness


End file.
